


turnabout is fair play

by witchofspaz



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 20:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12044016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchofspaz/pseuds/witchofspaz
Summary: dave is tired of getting jerked around and decides to take it out on dirk's butt





	turnabout is fair play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [centaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/centaur/gifts).



> this fic is dedicated to my very best friend/rp partner/dirkspiration bc i came up w the idea and immediately thought "if i wrote this she'd definitely shit her pants"
> 
> this au is based on something but i'm not saying what bc it's embarrassing... there's a lot of detail to the backstory that i'll probably (hopefully) write into a fic or fics one day. for ref since it's not in the fic dave is 25 and dirk is 20 and they've been step-brothers for 5 years and dave has been thirsty The Entire Time

“Heavens to fucking Betsy, Dave. Aren't you supposed to be the mature, responsible one? I'm your _brother_.” Piece of shit could not look more pleased with himself, even out of breath and with his hair all mussed.

“Step-brother,” Dave reminds him grimly. “Not like I changed your damn diapers. Get on the fucking bed.” He plants his hands on Dirk's shoulders and shoves hard. Dirk lands on his back and scoots backward, laughing silently.

“Keep telling your guilty conscience that, bro. It might even help.”

Dave climbs onto the bed, straddling Dirk's hips. He's so heated he's not even thinking about what he's doing anymore. “God, for once in your life, just shut the fuck up. Jesus, you're annoying.” His hand lands on Dirk's mouth with an audible clap. He half expects to get licked like Dirk is a fucking six-year-old, but Dirk just stares at him, somehow managing to smirk with just his eyes. That's almost as irritating as the talking--what has Dirk ever done to earn all that fucking confidence?—so he scoots his hips back and grinds down hard on Dirk's crotch. It earns him a moan and half a second of helpless expression on his shit-ass brat of a baby brother's face. It's intoxicating.

He keeps his hand where it is for now and uses the other to (awkwardly—it's his non-dominant hand) unzip himself and fish his dick out of his boxers. It's hard already. It was hard the second his lips touched Dirk's. He fists it once, loosely, letting out a satisfied sigh. Dirk seems transfixed. The arrogant expression is totally gone, and his eyes are locked hungrily on Dave's erection.

A satisfied smile plays on Dave's lips. “What, you want this?” He waggles it a little with his hand. Dirk nods firmly, pushing against the hand still covering his mouth. “Then fucking be quiet. Can you do that?” Another nod. Dave takes his hand away and just stares at Dirk for several seconds, testing him. He stays silent, licking his lips.

“Good.” Dave strokes himself again, then moves back, pushing Dirk's legs apart so he can kneel between them. “Help me get your pants off.” His fingers are already working Dirk's fly before he's done speaking, and Dirk's hands fly to help him. They're off in ten seconds, and Dirk is breathing hard. It gives Dave a bone deep satisfaction to see him discomposed for once. Dave himself can feel hear his heart pounding in his ears and his breath shaking, but at least he's in charge. He pushes Dirk's legs open wide just to hear the catch in his breath, then climbs over him. His lips linger over Dirk's, close enough to feel his breath but not touching, but then he loses what little control he had and his mouth drops down hard, his tongue shoving into Dirk's eager mouth. Without breaking the kiss, he snakes a hand down and palms Dirk roughly through his boxers.

(He can tell from touch that it's bigger than his. Mother fuck.)

Impatient, he shoves himself back to a sitting position and divests Dirk of his underwear in short order. Then he remembers something.

“Shit. Lube.” Not something hotels usually stock their rooms with. Not this kind of hotel, anyway.

“Am I allowed to talk now?” Dirk sounds amused, if a little breathless, smirking up at Dave even flat on his back and completely naked.

“Don't push your luck,” Dave snarls.

Dirk raises his hands, palms out: all innocence. “Check the back pocket of my jeans.”

Throwing him a suspicious look for good measure, Dave obeys, and finds a handful of condoms and a small bottle of lube. “Slut,” he mutters.

“Well-practiced,” Dirk suggests.

“Yeah, you have a lot of practice at being a slut.” Dave is shoving Dirk's legs apart as he speaks, settling between them and coating his fingers with lube. The first one goes in easily. “Exhibit A,” he drawls, but it still makes his dick twitch and drool onto the bed. Dirk moans, the overconfident facade dropped as soon as Dave's finger entered him. Dave adds a second, reaching up and hooking them to drag the tips against the right spot, and Dirks hips lift straight off the bed with a cry.

When the third finger slides in, Dirk lifts his head up with an exasperated expression. “Jesus, why are you going so slow? I don't need that much prep, Dave, we just did a whole bit about how many dicks have been in me. Just fuck me already.”

Dave jams his fingers against Dirk's prostate again and he almost _squeals. Dave laughs_. “Brat.”

He gives Dirk what he wants, though. He can't not. He's aching so bad for it that he can barely get the condom on before getting into position, holding his cock in front of Dirk's hole. It goes in easy, but instead of giving him relief it just makes him even crazier; Dirk, squirming and whining, and the heat and pressure around his throbbing dick—it’s too much. “I've never seen you be this real in five goddamn years,” Dave mutters. “Fuck.”

He’s mindless then, and wordless, pounding Dirk’s ass, the only sound in the room the slap of skin against skin, Dirk’s moans, and Dave’s grunts of effort. He finishes embarrassingly quickly, with a strangled groan, and Dirk follows soon after without Dave even touching his dick.

There's a good reason why Dave rarely wants to top: it's emotionally exhausting. He rolls off Dirk and onto his back, breathing hard and covered in sweat. Afterglow rapidly gives way to fatigue, which hits him so hard that even tho he's still got all his clothes on and hasn't so much as removed the soiled condom, he starts to doze off.

He sleeps, so he supposes, for some ten or fifteen minutes, and wakes up to gentle hands touching him. They start at his hairline, brushing the damp hair from his forehead and blotting his sweaty face with something cool and wet. Then they're carefully easing off the condom, which he faintly hears hitting the bottom of the wastebasket. He's too tired to open his eyes. The same hands—Dirk's hands—big, warm, dry—slowly unbutton his shirt, remove his shoes and socks, and divest him of all the rest of his clothing with tender care. When they're done, he feels them gently push at him, encouraging him to turn over. He makes a soft protesting noise.

“Easy.” Dirk's voice sounds amused but deeply affectionate, and it gives Dave an odd feeling in his chest, like receiving a gift he didn't know was coming or deserved. “You'll be more comfortable this way.”

“For what?” Dave asks muzzily. His answer is a soft kiss pressed to the back of his shoulder, and it's sufficient to placate him. The bed covers rustle, and then he feels Dirk encouraging his hips to lift off the bed, then a pillow being pushed under them.

He's starting to get an idea of where this is going.

“I just fucked you. Isn't your dick tired?” he mumbles. There's a crack of laughter behind him.

“I'm young, Dave. My dick is resilient.” Something hard and penis-shaped presses against Dave's ass, driving the point home. He feels Dirk's weight shift on the bed and then Dirk's hands on his thighs, encouraging them apart. Made pliable by exhaustion, he complies automatically. A thumb brushes over his sensitive entrance and he shudders against the bed. In short order, it's followed by lube-slicked fingers, sliding inside him and carefully opening him up. For all the grief he gave Dirk, Dave has probably had more dicks inside him. It doesn't take long. The fingers withdraw, and he feels the tip of Dirk's erection nudging him.

“You want this?” It's an arrogant question, but there's a note of uncertainty in Dirk's voice. He's genuinely asking for consent.

Dave nods jerkily into the mattress. His voice catches when he clarifies, “Yes.”

Dirk takes him at his word; he pushes in, very carefully and very slowly, and Dave groans, his fingers digging weakly into the sheets. He can almost feel the restrained impatience in Dirk’s hands where they’re holding onto his hips. Finally, Dirk is sheathed to the hilt, and he drapes his body over Dave, lying flush against his back with his weight braced on his arms so he doesn’t crush Dave’s smaller frame. He doesn’t move right away; first he pushes the hair away from the nape of Dave’s neck and presses soft, wet kisses there. It’s so rawly emotional that Dave feels his throat tighten. He wouldn’t have thought Dirk capable of this kind of patience or tenderness.

When Dirk finally does move, it’s in slow nudges: more burning coals than roaring flame. It’s unbearably arousing. Dave is unusually quiet (he tends to be pretty loud during sex, especially when bottoming), but he lets out a quiet moan every time Dirk’s lips touch his shoulders and neck.

The state he’s in is almost trancelike. He gets a little more urgent when Dirk sneaks a hand under his body to get hold of his dick, but not much. His orgasm feels like a benediction--and, echoing the first round, Dirk’s follows quickly after.

“Fuck,” Dave mumbles. “You dick. I’m lying in my own wet spot and I’m too tired to move. Where am I even supposed to go if I did? You made me ruin my side of the bed.”

“Dave. Shut up.” The degree of fondness in Dirk’s voice is embarrassing, quite honestly. His big hands pull Dave onto his side and against Dirk’s front. He’s the little spoon. Great.

“My stomach is sticky.” Dirk’s hand appears with a tissue and wipes it down.

“Any other complaints?”

Dave is silent for a good minute while he wriggles to settle himself more comfortably against Dirk’s body. Finally, reluctantly: “No.” 

___________________________________

 

Dave wakes alone in the bed, disoriented. He blinks groggy eyes, shifting, and the sheets and blankets rustle around him him. He doesn’t remember being under the covers when he fell asleep.

“You were out cold.” The voice comes from behind him; startled, he jerks his head to look. It’s Dirk, sitting at the desk with a laptop in front of him. Dave can’t make out what’s on the screen, beyond lines of text. “And naked. I tucked you in.”

Oh. “You didn’t tuck yourself in with me?” Dave tries not to sound petulant, and mostly succeeds. This doesn’t exactly feel romantic.

“I don’t sleep much, you know that. And I had homework.” Dirk does something on the laptop, then shuts it. He turns back to Dave with an insufferably smug expression on his insufferably beautiful face. “Feeling needy, Dave? I’m done with my work now. I can cuddle you as much as you want.” The smile that spreads across his face is pure evil. “But you have to ask.”

Dirk and his constant fucking power plays. Dave rolls over, away from Dirk. “I’m good,” he says shortly.

There's a pause, like Dirk is digesting his response. “You sure?” Dave feels his weight dip the bed. He waits for a hand on him, but it doesn't come. “Okay, bro. I’ll be here if you change your mind.”

Reluctant to lose face and irritated by Dirk’s apparent patience, Dave stays where he is for several minutes, but eventually he rolls back over. Dirk is sitting up against the headboard, hands folded across his lap, watching Dave. Dave watches back, not speaking. Dirk raises one eyebrow. It's annoyingly attractive.

Dave inches closer, resting his cheek on Dirk’s thigh and slinging a possessive arm across his lap. “It's cold in here,” he explains, and even he knows how unconvincing he sounds.

Dirk’s hand plays in his hair with naked tenderness. “I love you too.”


End file.
